


In Which Grantaire Falls in Love at a Costume Ball

by normcorearthoe



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cinderella Elements, Costume Ball, Costume Parties & Masquerades, F/M, M/M, its hella cute, its only mentioned though, takes place in one night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-09
Updated: 2016-02-09
Packaged: 2018-05-19 06:21:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5956855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/normcorearthoe/pseuds/normcorearthoe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marius throws a costume ball for Cosette's birthday. Cuteness ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Which Grantaire Falls in Love at a Costume Ball

Grantaire was at a costume ball, obviously, because the invitation said refreshments would be provided.

 

Eponine’s friend Marius (sweet kid, a little awkward though) was filthy rich and Courfeyrac (an interesting guy to say the least) was a party enthusiast as Grantaire understood, and Marius had a girlfriend with whimsical tastes and an upcoming birthday, and all of these things culminated, apparently, into what was going to be what Eponine called “the fanciest fucking party you’ll ever be invited to, and Grantaire, _free champagne and cake._ ”

 

How could he say no? But now that he was in the frankly disconcertingly large ballroom in Marius’ grandfather’s mansion, Grantaire felt a little out of his element. His people were really more the “let’s get the cheapest and strongest liquor we can find and get drunk while watching cartoons” type, and these people were way more “let’s drink a respectable amount and make small talk” than Grantaire liked. Other than him and ‘Ponine, the room was filled with well-off and well-adjusted young adults in beautiful costumes.

 

Grantaire felt very self-conscious in his long grey ram-skull mask and ragged black clothes. Well, he was proud of the mask, which he had made last year in his sculpture class, and its spiraling red horns. He’d meant to look like Death, and kind of matched Eponine in her sparkly red gown and more delicate black lace mask and black Devil horns. She looked, as always, fucking awesome, and he admitted he’d also kind of wanted to crash the ball with her because he knew she was still a little upset by the whole Marius/Cosette thing. Of course she’d now ditched him to talk to a young man with long black hair pulled into a ponytail and a brown owl mask (Combeferre probably).

 

Luckily, Grantaire always had his travel sketchpad.

 

He sat down at a table where they’d eaten when they’d first arrived (which had been fine because it was just him and Eponine at their table, but no, now she had to go flirt with some horribly nice philosopher) and picked out a costume he liked (Cosette, with a flowery ballgown and rabbit mask) and sketched. He was just starting in on the long pale hair streaming down her back when he heard a sharp intake of breath behind him.

 

“That’s really good.”

 

The voice sounded like a melody (almost familiar)- obviously Grantaire had to turn around. The person behind him was dressed in a long cream-colored tunic and simple dark green pants, brown boots and a long red cloak, but his mask- _his mask_ \- was exquisite.

 

It was a deer, but all white- and the antlers were like branches, twisting and sprouting leaves. He looked like Life.

 

Realising he’d just turned around and stared silently, he rushed to respond. “Thank you,” he breathed, “I like your mask.”

 

The stranger laughed. _God_ , it was like honey. “It was a gift from a friend- do you know Jehan?”

 

Grantaire nodded, temporarily unable to make words.

 

“He’s normally more into poetry but he’s been into sculpting lately- he’s pretty talented, and he really likes fantasy themes right now.” Grantaire imagined he smiled. “I like yours too. Did you make it?”

 

Grantaire nodded again.

 

“That’s really impressive. Mind if I sit? My feet are killing me.”

 

Grantaire felt like a bobblehead.

 

The deer-mask person sat down. “What’s your name?”

 

Finally, Grantaire’s mouth worked. “It’s a costume, ball, no point to names. Plus, maybe I have a reputation.”

 

It was the deer-mask’s turn to nod. He turned to look at the crowd, and Grantaire saw a bit of what was hidden from the front by his mask- the bottom of his ear and his jaw, a beautiful golden-brown- and more importantly, his _hair_ . Oh good god, it was the most pure shade of gold and it reached his shoulders in smooth curls, and it was _fucking beautiful_ . The only word Grantaire could come up with to describe it was _Apollo_ \- coincidentally, a good nickname to refer to this young man in his head.

 

Apollo turned back to Grantaire. “Oh, you’re drawing Cosette- I like how you did the flowers.” He leaned in to look closer, and Grantaire could almost feel his breath on his shoulder. “It’s really beautiful.”

 

Grantaire resolved that he could be bold sometimes when he felt like it.

 

“I can draw you next, if you want.”

 

Apollo nodded. “If you don’t mind me sitting with you for as long as it takes to finish.”

 

Grantaire smiled, but it was probably hidden. “Should I?”

 

“I’ve been told I have strong opinions and I’m very aggressive about them.”

 

Grantaire turned to a new page and started blocking out Apollo’s form. “Is that so? What about?”

Apollo laughed, then tried to sit still for Grantaire. “Everything, honestly. Women’s rights, racial equality, lgbt rights, the like.”

 

Grantaire nodded. “Well, I’m all for gay rights, you know, being a gay. Well, bisexual.” He figured it was safe to say. He started trying to depict the antlers.

 

“Me too.” Excellent to know. “Of course it’s not just gay rights.”

 

“Of course.”

 

“That sounds a little sarcastic.”

 

“Maybe.” He erased part of an antler, started over. “Not about it being just gay rights, just- you really think you can make a difference?”

 

Irritation crept into Apollo’s voice. “I do.”

 

Grantaire snorted. “Why?” He added a few leaves.

 

“Because it _matters_ and I’m going to do whatever I can,” Apollo said (the way his voice crept up an octave was adorable, and how his hair almost fluffed as he bristled was honestly just too much). “And you think I _can’t?_ ” He leaned forward as he spoke, then went back to his original position so he didn’t interrupt the sketching.

 

Grantaire started on the mask. “It’s a nice idea,” he supplied.

 

“But?”

 

“But a little unrealistic. As much as it would be great if the world improved, it’s unlikely to happen- any time soon at least. Hoping doesn’t do much- I sort of consider myself a cynic like that.”

 

Apollo looked like he was really reining himself in. “...You’re… _allowed to think what you want_.”

 

“Thanks.” The mask had simple black eyes, that made things easy. He roughed out the neck, then looked up.

 

“I’m just messing with you, you know. It’s cool that you’re passionate.”

 

Apollo’s posture slackened a little- he hadn’t realised he’d been sitting rigidly. “Thanks,” he replied.

 

Grantaire strated on the hood of the cloak, which fell on his shoulders. “So are you a student?”

 

Apollo nodded. “Political science, history minor. I like learning about people who changed the world.”

 

“Any current favorites?”

 

Apollo turned away slightly, like he was blushing. “Charles Sumner. He was a senator during the Civil War, he had a lot of good ideas.”

 

Grantaire grinned under his mask. “Cool.” (Unsaid: you big nerd.) He sketched out the shoulders- it would probably be a bust, his sketchbook wasn’t too big. He began adding some shadows to the tunic.

 

“And you?”

 

“Visual art, mostly painting but I dabble. I also look into mythology, but more as a hobby. A lot of my stuff is based off greek mythos, a few angels in the mix.”

 

“Cool.”

 

Grantaire added a few finishing touches. “Well, I’d say you’re done.” He passed the sketchbook over.

 

Apollo did another of those gasps. “I’m not this hot.”

 

“Sure, Adonis.”

 

“Very funny.” He started to stand up, then hesitated, and asked- “Do you want to dance? I know how to waltz decently.”

 

Grantaire was glad he couldn’t see him blush. “Of course.” And so he got up, took Apollo’s hand, and walked onto the dance floor.

 

As they twirled around, Grantaire learned these things in order: Apollo liked birds more than cats or dogs, his favorite food was honest-to-god ramen noodles (“My mom made them when I was little if she was too tired to cook, so blame her for my emotional attachment.”), his favorite color by far was red (duh), and he was really into Bach lately.

 

In turn, Grantaire told him that he was a cat person, that he really liked peach-flavored soda and candy, that he liked green, especially in sweater form, and that Eponine had gotten him into Bastille (curse her mainstream taste, it was damn good sometimes) and especially their song ‘Icarus’.

 

After maybe half an hour, Grantaire realised it was nearing midnight and he hadn’t had a single drink except some of Apollo's water when they’d stepped away for some air. At Eponine’s request he’d been drinking less than usual lately but he was especially glad to be sober in that moment.

 

At midnight, of course, the party ended and he might never see Apollo again- the worst part was he’d get to see his face only to lose it. He knew nothing about him except that he was friends with Jehan, and he was too afraid to ask what college he went to. He didn’t want the sun god to know he was getting attached- and Apollo didn’t know that Grantaire was just a depressed drunk. Or that he was not the most attractive under his mask.

 

Eponine said he was handsome, but his nose was too big and his jaw was too strong and he always had dark circles under his eyes and he could never avoid getting stubble, even right after he shaved. ‘Ponine said everybody thought that about themselves but he was pretty sure she was just humoring him. Not to mention he was getting pretty soft around the stomach and from what he could see Apollo was drop-dead beautiful.

 

He wanted Apollo to remember him as the interesting painter that knew how to waltz and liked  greek myths.

 

It was 11:55. Marius had told them everyone would take off their masks at 12:00.

 

“I-I think I should go,” he told Apollo, starting to move away. He got a few feet and didn’t hear Apollo try to protest.

 

It hurt but it was the right thing to do.

 

Then Grantaire felt a hand on his arm.

 

“Wait.”

 

He turned around to see Apollo reaching out and holding on gently. He wished he could see his face.

 

“...I want to know what you look like. I want to see you after this.”

 

He sounded so unguarded.

 

Did Grantaire really have a choice?

 

“I’m… scared.”

 

Apollo was silent after a moment.

 

“Maybe- maybe if I close my eyes when we take our mask off? Then you can look first?”

 

Grantaire nodded. They went back out onto the floor, swirled around in the crowd for a few minutes.

 

At thirty seconds to go, the crowd began counting down. He faced his Apollo.

 

“Ten, Nine, Eight, Seven, Six…”

 

He was too nervous to count.

 

“Five, Four, Three…”

 

He could totally leave, Apollo had probably closed his eyes already, but he couldn’t ditch him.

 

“Two…”

 

He wanted to do this.

 

“One…”

 

He was going to do this.

 

The group around them cheered and began taking off their masks, but it faded into a blur.

 

The young man before him took off his mask in time with Grantaire.

 

He kept his promise.

 

“Tell me when to open,” he said.

 

 _Oh, my god,_ thought Grantaire.

 

His hair tumbled down around his shoulders and glowed like a halo in the lights of the room (so, so gold). His pale eyelashes were long and stood out against his warm golden-brown skin. He was blushing a little.

 

He knew the voice had been familiar. How many times had he been to Cafe Musain and heard it shouting about the next rally or protest while his friends listened and he sketched by the bar?

 

He hadn’t known him because he’d never heard him speak so calmly. They’d never even talked.

 

Grantaire had no idea Enjolras was so beautiful.

 

Enjolras the leader was Enjolras who liked history, who listened to Bach, who went to costume balls and ate ramen noodles because they were his favorite food.

 

Grantaire realised his window of time before Enjolras realised the artist he’d danced with was Grantaire the ugly drunk who got smashed at the bar and scribbled in his sketchbook while he spoke of revolution. Surely Courfeyrac or Marius had mentioned him- Enjolras probably thought he was an idiot. He’d never speak to him after this, just when Grantaire had fallen for Enjolras-who-likes-Bach-and-ramen.

 

Grantaire was a weak man.

 

He leaned in and kissed Enjolras, who against all odds kissed back, his eyes still closed but his mouth open.

 

After a (too short) moment Grantaire broke away, and at first he couldn’t bring himself to ruin things and say it but he wasn’t much of a liar.

 

“Open.”

 

Enjolras’ eyes fluttered open, slowly.

 

“...Grantaire.”

 

“Enjolras.”

 

Grantaire expected a slap on the face, maybe even a punch. Insults, yelling, the like. But-

 

Enjolras smiled, a small smile but a smile.

 

“I’d… I’d thought it might be.”

 

Oh.

 

“I’m glad.”

 

_Oh._

 

Grantaire’s mind raced. “But you’re so beautiful,” he started.

 

“You fool, you too,” Enjolras cut him off.

 

Grantaire’s mind raced.

  
Then Enjolras leaned in again with a passion and he decided to just stop thinking for a bit.

**Author's Note:**

> It's a one shot, and I think it's best that way, but I have a few other AUs I want to try :0
> 
> kudos and comments please! they warm my frozen heart


End file.
